Different Shades of Blue
by 47th Spirit
Summary: Sara finds herself in a desperate situation...(GSR)
1. Prologue

**Different Shades of Blue**

**By: 47th Spirit**

**Disclaimer: Any characters related to CSI are sadly not mine.  
Spoilers: None at the moment.  
Summery: Sara finds herself in a desperate situation... (GSR)**

**A/N: Thank you Ace for the much needed Beta-ing**, **couldn't have done this without you! **

Prologue

Sure, she thought about doing it before, in those single brief moments when everything was just too much, when the pain reached so deep she thought it would eat her up from the inside, when she found no comfort in reasoning and rationalizing what seemed to be an already lost cause, when there was no escape, no alternate paths, no plan B's, when the logic disappeared and the hope ran out, leaving her with the only feeling she was finding too hard to cope with - the feeling of emptiness.

Everything else was routine for her, desperation, depression, and loneliness. She had always been lonely; she was never anything but alone in her entire life. The fog of loneliness had always surrounded her and enveloped her in a familiar way, so she never had to learn how to live with it, she was already living with it, she was married to it. She didn't have any other choice but to accept it and embrace it as the only consistent thing in her life.

Even when the fog became darker and darker as time passed, so dark that it was all she could see, she knew it was there to stay. She knew there was nothing she could do to make it go away, no matter how hard she tried, and it's not like she didn't.

That undeniable hollow feeling of nothingness, that was something else, something new, something that couldn't be fixed with work, or beer, or Grissom. She used to think he could; she used to imagine how he would show up at her door one night, say that he's now officially emotionally available, say he's sorry for treating her the way he did, for what he's done or hasn't done, for everything. He would say he's ready to change to whatever she needed him to change into, he would look into her eyes with his deep blue eyes and his all-too-familiar baffled expression on his face, and with three words he would fill up all of her holes, erase all of her scars, break all of the walls she worked so hard to build, and not only penetrate the thick dark cloud of misery that encircled her, but he would manage to vanish it completely.

She then imagined how she would look back at him with her big brown eyes that would be filled with tears and longing, and she would forgive him, tell him that she doesn't need him to change for her; he only needed to be with her.

Not anymore though, she didn't think he would, so she told herself he couldn't anyway, even though somewhere, in some hidden little space in her sub-consciousness, she still hoped.

As the nights passed and the weeks, months, and years followed, her dreams and expectations for a better future were replaced with the grim realization that nothing would ever change, that everything would stay the same, and that the ropes of stillness she was tied to would never allow her to move forward and beyond.

She found herself having those brief moments that were no longer brief and no longer rare. Those moments came often, and they came hard. The victims from her heartbreaking cases would sneak their way into her dreams, turning them into nightmares, their gut-wrenching screams making her ears bleed, their pleading hands trying to reach her, to grasp her. Sometimes they did, holding her so tightly that she couldn't breathe, their fingernails embedding themselves into her delicate skin, making her bleed, and she bled, in those nightmares she bled. She would bleed and bleed until she would feel her life fading away, and she had no choice but to wake up, and when she did, those moments came.

They came when she was at work too, when she had to deal with those flesh and blood victims that were either dead or alive, those victims that she would undoubtedly meet again when she couldn't avoid sleep any longer.

They came when she saw him, when she spoke to him, when he smiled to her and had given her his praises, and when he accidentally brushed his hand over hers, or patted her casually on her back. She was painfully reminded again and again of what she couldn't have, of what she would never have.

They came when she was doing her laundry, when she was reading or showering.

They came randomly and without notice.

There were times when they didn't just come to her but instead struck her like lightning. She awoke in horror from the nightmares where the victim was her, and she was the one holding onto someone else for dear life, begging for help, screaming, yelling, fighting, and praying for it all to stop, praying for silence. They struck her like a fist so fast and hard that she became breathless and had to run to the bathroom and puke her guts out.

They struck her at the least expected locations, at the most uncomfortable times.

They struck her when she never wanted them to.

It's not like she had any saying in the matter; she didn't control those moments, they controlled her.

She wanted to blame him for those horrible moments; she wanted to pin the blame on him so she would be able to hate him, stay away from him, look at him and not want him and his approval, his acceptance, his comfort - his love.

But she couldn't. She blamed herself instead, she hated herself for allowing it to go this far, so far that she needed someone, anyone to fix her, to fill her void, to save her from herself.

She hated herself for having those moments.

Then came the time when those moments were no longer just moments; they were a disease, a disease that kept spreading and spreading until it infected every brain cell in her brain, every vein in her circulatory system, and every artery in her heart.

It was a disease that slowly consumed her without her knowledge, without her acceptance.

It was a disease that became so much a part of her that she was gradually becoming unaware of its symptoms, unaware of its long-term consequences.

So, sure, she thought about doing it, putting a stop to those moments, curing her disease, ending the darkness that filled every inch of her exhausted body for so long, _for too long_, ending that cold feeling that was more powerful than her urge to live, ending her hell.

She had just thought about it, and when she did the sense of self-loathing grew stronger, and the feelings of guilt built up to a point where they became too overwhelming that she had to chase the thought away. She then felt selfish for having such thoughts. She felt selfish because people out there were fighting for their lives, struggling to stay awake, taking every obstacle life threw at them and making it their way of growing stronger. She felt selfish for being such a coward, for wanting to take the easy way out.

What bothered her was that she didn't feel selfish for the people who knew her, for the people who cared for her, for the people who were her friends. She knew they would be disappointed, even disgusted, and maybe sometimes they'd even miss her, but they'd get over it, and so would he.

It stung her to know that he would be fine without her, that he would go on with the job he cared for more than he did her, that he would even be relieved. Yes, she was willing to accept that he would care; he would, she was sure of that. But he'd move on, and that thought stung her so much that if that stinging sensation could have manifested itself into the physical realm, it would have appeared as third degree burns that would cover one hundred percent of her body.

So yes, she wanted to, but she could never bring herself to do it, not for the fear of physical pain or the fear of the unknown, but because of the little invisible corner in her mind that held her last shards of hope, the little corner that held her last voice of reason. That voice told her not to, told her to hold on for just a little longer, told her that she needed to keep going, and that everything would be okay if she did; it told her to have faith.

So she listened to that voice, or at least she believed she did.

How did she end up in here? She wondered…

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"Miss, can you hear me?"

"Miss, open your eyes for me please."

"Sir, can you tell me her name?" Dr. Miller asked.

"Sir?"

"I… I don't know… I don't know her name, I just found her like this," the dazed man mumbled.

"Okay, let's check her pocket for ID."

TBC…

**A/N: This is my first fic, so I'd really appreciate any feedback, good or bad.**


	2. Different Shades of Blue

**Chapter one: Different Shades of Blue**

_Sara was standing on a bridge, a long golden bridge, so long she couldn't even see its edges. A beautiful, clear, blue ocean was spread beneath her; she had never seen an ocean so blue and so clear._

_She watched the gentle waves that seemed to form at random spots: waves that came in different shapes and different shades of blue, waves that started one way and ended in another, each wave with their own style, each wave with their own unique splashing sound, and she found herself loving that sound, loving that chaotic sound that reached her ears and made her want to dance to it's rhythm._

_The familiar smell of sand and salt reached her nostrils, and she sucked it in with a deep breath. She loved the smell of the ocean; if there was nothing else she could ever smell but its sweet scent, she would die a happy woman._

_The smell of the ocean had always triggered good memories. So few of them still existed; she had to treasure each and every last one of them._

_She looked upward and stared at the sky, the deep blue sky, a sky so close she could sense it, so close that if she tried, she was almost sure she could touch it…_

_After careful consideration, she decided not to. She was afraid that if she did, it would evaporate and disappear from her view. She didn't want it to, she didn't want to take that risk, so she turned her attention to the horizon instead where the sky and ocean met, creating two layers of texture, two layers of blue._

_She had never seen so much blue in her life._

_A cool breeze left moist drops on her soft skin, and the wind blew through her hair, leaving strands of it on her forehead._

_From a distance, she could see gulls cawing with excitement, flying together in an admirable harmony, every wing flap synchronized perfectly, every sound each made gathering to form a special kind of orchestra, a live flying orchestra._

_She thought it was funny that she had never seen or heard such gulls. She had never found them to have such a calming effect on her._

_The sun suddenly came into view, intensely bright and yellow… She squinted her eyes and was forced to close them for a short while. _

_She was terrified for a second, terrified that when she'd open them up again, everything would vanish, terrified that she would be pulled out of the realm of happiness she was currently residing in, and terrified that she would never be able to bring back the rare serenity that had fallen upon her._

_Her eyes shot open, and a wave of relief washed away all of her worries. Everything was in its place, the sounds, the smells, the blues - the sun was still there, its rays of light caressing her body with its soothing warmness. _

_The sight that lay before her was breathtaking, and she let herself get sucked into its beauty. _

_Tears were starting to form in her eyes, and she struggled to keep them down. She didn't want to cry because she knew if she did she would never be able to stop._

_She shifted her gaze down again and was suddenly overcome with the urge to jump, to leap into those waters, those beautiful clear waters, to swim in them, to feel them around her skin, around her hands and feet, around her body. She wanted to feel them; she wanted to be them, to become one with them._

_Sara didn't fight that urge, she embraced it._

_She climbed over the rail, her arms rising at each side to form a cross._

_Her heart began to beat quickly inside her chest, and her lips began to tremble. She could no longer hold the tears back, and one of them escaped and fell down her cheek. _

_She took a final deep breath and jumped._

_For a long moment she was just flying, flying and enjoying the freeing sensation. _

_She allowed herself to close her eyes and take in the air that surrounded her._

_The tranquil scenery changed quickly as the image of Grissom suddenly appeared out of nowhere, standing before her, reaching for her. Startled, she opened her eyes._

_She looked up and saw several thick, black clouds that were now occupying the vast space that was once a deep blue sky._

_She looked down, and her heart nearly jumped out of her chest. The ocean was no longer blue and no longer clear - it was black, and it was dark. She suddenly started screaming and kicking, trying with all of her strength to stop the rapid decent, wishing to turn back the time to when she was on that golden bridge again, safe and sound._

_But it was all in vain, it was too late._

_Her body hit the cold, dark water, and she struggled with all of her might against the cruel, hard waves that landed on her, turning and flipping her up and down and side to side._

_She was soon engulfed by the thick, black liquid, which was now invading every cavity and every cell in her body._

_She searched for anything that she could grab a hold onto, but it was in her eyes, so she couldn't see, in her ears so she couldn't hear anything, in her nose so she couldn't breathe, and in her mouth so she couldn't yell for help._

_Her mind screamed for help._

_She was drowning. _

_She was drowning, and there was no one there to help her._

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She was surrounded by darkness, a heavy and harsh darkness. She was completely lost, and everywhere she turned, darkness was all that she could see beneath her, above her, and all around her. It was so frightening and so black, blacker than she had ever seen or experienced.

She was confused and disoriented, her mind reeling with questions. Where was she? Why couldn't she open her eyes? What was that thing in her throat? She was choking, something was choking her. She panicked, she had to get that thing out.

"Sara, don't."

"Sara, no!"

"She's in shock."

"Grab her hands."

"Sara, just let us help you."

"Sara, calm down, everything is going to be okay."

"Sara, can you hear me?"

"Sara, I'm going to take that tube out in a second so just relax."

"Okay, here we go, one, two, three…"

Sara coughed violently, her eyes remaining closed, still refusing to acknowledge her current predicament.

For a long minute her state of awareness shifted quickly from one level to the next as she tried to make sense of the odd sounds and the weird smells.

She wanted to open her eyes, to escape the dark void, but she was so tired, so drained.

She refused to let herself succumb to it, and she tried again unsuccessfully.

She began to panic and thought that she had died and that maybe the eternal blackness was hell.

'No, no, no, no, no, this isn't possible, this isn't real,' she tried to calm herself down, repeating the words in her head over and over again. What had she done to deserve this? What had she done?

'Please God, help me'.

She took a final, desperate attempt to open her eyes, to escape the terrifying grasp of doom, and they finally started complying.

She slowly began taking in her surroundings. The bright, white light was the first thing she noticed, and a sharp pain shot through her entire body, causing her to moan.

The throbbing pain in her head sent waves of debilitating dizziness all the way down to her toes, and for a second she thought it might explode.

Her stomach was also hurting, twisting, turning, and making her think she was going to be sick. She was nauseated - she never thought it was possible to be this nauseated. Why was she so nauseated?

Every single part of her body now ached, and every slight movement sent jolts of dull pain down her spine and through her nerves and organs.

Her chest was burning, and she struggled hard to move. Every single breath she was taking served as a bitter reminder that something was wrong, something was very wrong.

She slid her tongue over her chapped lips to try to relive the dryness. She noticed how dry her mouth felt - so dry that the entire Nevada desert had probably taken temporary refuge inside of it.

Her mouth also seemed to have a strange metallic taste in it, almost like the taste of blood… blood? 'Blood?' she asked herself again, 'Why did she have blood in her mouth?' She was swept into panic mode again, and she tried to refocus her eyes on something, anything that could explain her current physical state. Though everything was still a blur, everything was a mixture of whirling colors and dancing sounds.

She blinked hard, and this time her eyes were drifting up and to the sides, thoroughly scanning the room she was in.

It was loud and alive, and she could now see shadowy figures hovering around her. She slowly began identifying them as people, people with intense stares and visible frowns on their faces. They paced quickly on the floor, coming and going, walking and running, people with tired looks and weary expressions, people who were hurting her. God they were hurting her, their hands pulling her down, grabbing her, poking her, and tormenting her. What did they want from her? Why were they hurting her? She flinched inadvertently as they continued torturing her with their cold hands and sharp instruments.

She wanted to call for help, to tell them to stop, but she couldn't get her mouth to open, she couldn't get her body to cooperate.

She tried not to panic again and focused on her breathing: inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. 'You can do this,' she instructed herself. It did indeed help a little, opening the door for pieces of logic to enter her mind.

The hazy fog was still preventing her from forming any coherent thoughts or remembering any painful memories. She couldn't avoid them forever, and they started to pour in, so many assaulting her mind all at once, terrorizing her with their implications.

She immediately felt a rush of guilt, but she didn't understand why.

What was she feeling guilty for?

A large flow of information flooded her senses and her brain was overloaded.

She tried to shut it all off for a second, and she took a moment to rest before confronting the devastating reality that she was placed in.

Once the smell of antiseptic reached her nose, there was no mistake as to where she was. She was at the hospital, and she couldn't remember how she got there.

'How did I end up in here?' she wondered.

She closed her eyes tightly and began searching her memory for answers.

TBC…

**A/N**: English is not my mother tongue, so if it seems a little fast, or a bit out of tune, it's unintentional.


	3. Different perspectives

**Chapter 2: Different perspectives**

**Spoilers:** Nothing that hasn't already aired.

**A/N:** Again, many thanks to my Beta– Ace.

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Sara wasn't working that night, it was her night off.

After an eventless day of doing absolutely nothing but watching television and eating junk food, she decided to call it a day and go to sleep early. Honestly, she was absolutely exhausted, she hadn't managed to sleep for a few nights now, and the lack of sleep was clearly starting to take a toll on her body.

She climbed into her bed but spent the next couple of hours just lying there, staring at the ceiling.

As she lay there for what seemed like weeks, she began imagining the white ceiling above her as something alive, something that moved and breathed, something that was anything but just a plain, white, boring ceiling. She then imagined it to be a grey cloud that turned blacker and blacker, a cloud that started raining, raining on her head, raining on her body, and wetting her hair and clothes. She smiled widely, almost laughing at the vision before her. "Could I be any crazier?" she asked herself sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

When the picture faded and she could no longer keep the vision alive, the disturbing thoughts that she was getting more and more familiar with flowed through her head again, making her more than a little restless and more than a little annoyed.

Becoming more and more frustrated by the minute, she decided to go for a jog to clear her head of the persistent thoughts that kept her awake and to try and rid herself of the despair that was now sinking in, deeper and deeper, threatening to push her down an unknown district.

Lately she was finding herself going for those jogs, and more often than not, it was the only thing that really helped her. The sleeping pills had stopped working a long time ago along with some other failing measures such as alcohol or late night drives.

It was comforting to know that at least one thing still helped her find a small corner of peace in a world of pain and suffering.

She tried to remember the last time anything else helped her but failed miserably.

With a loud sigh, she rolled out of her bed, changed her t-shirt and pajamas for a black tank top and tight pants, slipped into her sneakers,and ventured into the kitchen.

She grabbed her windbreaker that was lying on the kitchen chair, zipped it up, and placed her wallet in its pocket.

She opened up her refrigerator wanting to grab a bottle of water, and as she was doing that, her eyes came across a bottle of beer.

For a long moment she just stared at it, her gaze shifting down slowly up and down the transparent bottle.

She was overcome with the temptation to reach for it, grab it, and swallow it up in a single gulp - tempted beyond words.

Her hand started to move slowly in the direction of the desirable beverage, but just before her long fingers could touch it, a little voice practically screamed at her, reminding her that she was planning on going out, and that the last thing she needed to add to the current list of her growing problems was an arrest for public intoxication. She moved her hand a few inches to the side, grabbed a bottle of water, and twisted the cap off in record time, bringing it to her lips and pouring large portions of it into her increasingly upset stomach. When she was done, she placed it back on the counter and closed the cap.

Sara glanced around the dimly lit kitchen. She hadn't even bothered to turn on the light, and as she stood there in the dark feeling more and more agitated as every second passed by, she suddenly became very claustrophobic and was starting to feel as if the walls of her apartment were closing in on her.

'I have to get out of here,' she panicked. Her body twisted around quickly, and she bolted out the door, slamming it behind her, and forgetting her water bottle along the way.

After practically flying down the stairs, she was out in a second; an Olympic runner couldn't have done it faster than she did.

Outside, she was met with the unusually cool, fresh air of the Las Vegas night that was a whole lot different from the suffocating atmosphere within her apartment, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

With the stars above and the full moon behind her, she headed for her normal route and began her running course.

Soon enough she was out there running slowly and steadily at first and then a little faster, increasing her speed with each passing mile.

A short while later, she was already sweating and breathing heavily, respiration forming on her forehead and dripping down to her eyes. She stopped in her tracks and wiped the wet spots on her face with her sleeves, taking off her windbreaker in the process and tying it around her waist.

As always, she changed her direction and headed for the little coffee house around the corner where the people were always really nice, and the tea was always really great.

It was one of the few reasons she still loved living in Vegas; everything was open 24 hours a day, and that nice little coffee house around the corner was no different.

She usually never drank their coffee because she didn't want to stay up even longer than she had to. After all, she was out there in hopes of catching a better sleep after returning home, so she always opted for her favorite decaf tea instead.

But as soon as the thought of sleep crept it's way into her head, she started feeling very tired again and began to have second thoughts about whether or not she should go there.

It was something she always did, and she was scared that if she broke that cycle, her last helping resource would stop working. That thought frightened her beyond belief.

So, exhausted but determined to reach the coffee house, she resumed walking, taking another turn and crossing a road before finally reaching her destination.

As she was putting her windbreaker back on, she entered carefully through the glass doors of the small building and was instantly enveloped by the pleasant aroma that hung in the air.

She closed her eyes for a brief second and sucked in a deep breath of the familiar scent, enjoying every atom of it that was now flowing through her system, doing wonders for her mood. She opened her eyes again and made her way to the counter.

"Oh, hey, Sara!" an elderly woman greeted her with a wide smile.

"Hey, Rosa, " Sara waved, giving the woman a slight smile and making an effort to make it genuine.

"How are you doing tonight?" Rosa asked worriedly, "Still can't sleep?" she questioned her.

"Yeah, well, no…," she mumbled, scrambling for the right words, "I'm fine….really," she lied, giving the woman her best reassuring smile.

The friendly woman behind the counter tilted her head, her eyes narrowing and regarding Sara skeptically.

"Uh, hmm…if you say so, " she agreed with her, knowing very well that the opposite was true.

Since she owned the coffee house, Rosa was there almost every night. She had gotten to know Sara pretty well over the last couple of months, in a distant friendly kind of way, not that it was very easy though, Sara wasn't much of a talker, and she had a tough time squeezing anything out of her.

But Rosa had a way of getting people to talk even when they didn't really want to. So, even though it took some time, her persistence eventually paid off, and she managed to get the more than reluctant Sara to open up a little.

She had many regular costumers, but Sara was different. She was different in a very unique and interesting kind of way. She learned of her work in the Las Vegas Crime Lab, and Sara was always willing to share interesting facts, and funny anecdotes - not about the actual cases she worked on but about some of the processes she had to go through in finding evidence.

She discussed the weird experiments that she and Grissom were working on and the adventures that she and Greg shared. She had also told her about the two-faced Catherine, Warrick and Nick, and mentioned some other people she had close bonds with.

Through her stories she had gotten to know the people that Sara worked with very well, and she found it odd that they were the only people she had ever talked about. Sara had never mentioned her family, so she knew not to ask.

She had really grown to like the young woman with the beautiful, gap-toothed grin and sad eyes. She had wondered about those sad eyes, those big, sad eyes that seemed to have known such horrors and devastation.

Oddly enough when Sara would talk about her supervisor, sometimes those sad eyes would light up and fill up with joy, and sometimes those eyes would become darker and darker and sadder, if that was even possible. Rosa wondered about that man, the man that seemed to bring Sara so much joy and so much heartache all at the same time. She wondered how that man was missing the greatest thing that could ever happen to him, how he was missing such happiness with that wonderful bright woman that stood before her. She didn't understand why they weren't together because she had asked Sara some questions, and Sara responded, telling her he wasn't married, divorced, or involved. So she didn't understand why they weren't already married, since Sara obviously had strong feelings for him, and considering the stories that Sara had told her about him, it seemed like he cared for her a great deal as well.

Rosa was angry at that man, even though she had never seen him or met him in her life, she was angry that she was witnessing Sara's slow decent to nowhere, and that he was not there for her, helping her. She wanted to help her, but all she could do was listen and hand her advice from her own long life experiences. It was all she could do really, so she did just that. She told Sara about her children and grandchildren and made her laugh through her stories about her lazy husband and her smelly cat. She was glad she could at least do that, make her laugh, and forget her troubles, even if it was for just a second.

But lately, even that didn't help.

"So, the usual, right?" Rosa asked rhetorically.

"Yep," Sara answered with a slight nod.

"Alright," the energetic woman said loudly, "coming right up!" she announced.

Sara then turned around and took a seat at a small empty table near the entrance, allowing her body to relax and sit comfortably in the chair.

In the mean time while waiting patiently for her order, she watched the comings and goings of people.

Sara was there almost every week, but the number of people that were out there that late at night never ceased to amaze her. There were many of them present during the day also, but the small place was never busier than at night.

In a way it served as a certain comfort, knowing she wasn't the only one with severe insomnia and a lost soul.

As she continued watching them, she was reminded how much she loved observing people, their expressions, and their reactions. It was her thing, it was her hobby, and it was what she did. Some people might have described it differently, and in a more negative way, but she just called it practice. She thought about it as good practice, something that could only cause her to get better at her job, something that could even help her detect danger.

When the tea arrived, she thanked the waiter and started blowing softly on the cup, her gaze still remaining fixed on the building's glass doors.

She watched the doors as they opened up slowly, revealing a beautiful tall young woman with short black hair, hazel eyes, and a charming smile; a woman that could have been her sister in another life. She entered the small, intimate place as a slightly older man with grey curls, green eyes, and an equally charming grin followed her every step.

The two of them were holding hands, exchanging warm looks and bright exuberant smiles, their expressions filled with desire for one another.

Sara had no doubt that these people were in love, deeply and madly in love, and judging by the shy smiles and the seemingly comfortable silence, it was a newfound love, something that she could only dream of, something that she craved more than water or food.

They took a seat right across from her, their fingers still tangled, never leaving each other's grip.

As they sat there with their constant grins that were glued to their faces, looking extremely happy and irreplaceable, her heart filled with jealousy. 'They look so happy,' she thought bitterly, and felt bile rising up her throat.

She stood up fast, almost knocking over her cup of tea, took out her wallet, paid in a hurry leaving a hefty tip along the way, and fled the building without even taking one sip of her tea.

When she returned to the cool Las Vegas night, she found herself having one of those horrid moments where everything seemed like such a waste and everything felt so empty. She swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked back the tears that were starting to form in her eyes.

Her jaw clenched with anger, and she wished the earth would just open up and swallow her whole, right then and there, so she would never have to be seen or heard of again.

She wished she was never born; she wished she was dead.

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A young man had just exited a nearby bar; the love of his life had dumped him only a few hours earlier.

Drowning in his sorrow, he made his way back to his van, swaying from side to side.

He reached for his pocket in an attempt to get his keys out, but he couldn't get his hand in the right place or his eyes in the right direction.

After a few futile attempts, he finally managed to get them out, almost stumbling to the ground in the process.

Eventually, after losing his way a few times, he reached the big black van and stepped up into the driver's seat, all the while ignoring his inner voice that told him he drank way too much, and that maybe it wasn't a good idea for him to drive.

He struggled to get the key into the ignition, and after releasing a few cusses, he finally succeeded, started the car, and drove away, blissfully unaware that his bad day was about to take a turn for the worse.

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Sara was on her way home when she unwillingly entered a trance of flowing memories, painful memories, memories of rejection, memories of chained events that conspired to bring her down further into a darker dimension.

She wrapped her arms around herself, remembering the words like they were spoken yesterday.

_"Somebody young and beautiful shows up. Somebody we could care about. She offers us a new life with her but we have a big decision to make, right? Because we have to risk everything we've worked for in order to have her."_

"_I couldn't do it..."_

"_I don't know what to do about this."_

_"I'm not worried, I'm concerned."_

_"I want to know why you're so angry."_

She shook her head, trying to chase away those memories, wishing to forget everything that he had ever said to her and everything that he had ever done or hadn't done to her - she wished she would just forget him.

She wished a lot of things.

Sara was so caught up with those burning emotions and the subsequent feelings of regret and guilt that she never saw it coming. She never saw the large vehicle behind her, advancing towards her at rapid speed.

All she saw was bright lights and bright stars as the van slammed into her, taking her by surprise and knocking the wind out of her. In what seemed like forever but was actually only a fraction of a second, her whole life flashed before her. Images, so many of them, changed so quickly in her head like a broken movie screen, changing so quickly, way too quickly.

After that, there was nothing.

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The young man fled the scene, leaving Sara's broken body on the pavement, leaving her like she was nothing more than a wounded animal.

Fortunately for her, a bystander had witnessed the entire scene unfold and had called an ambulance only a few seconds later.

Soon after, she was already at the hospital being treated for her injuries. Doctors and nurses worked frantically to fix her, to bring her back from her unconsciousness, to bring her back from the dead.

Whatever they did seemed to work, and Sara was finally coming back into the world of the living, painfully slow, and unsteadily, but coming back nonetheless.

Yes, she was. She was coming back,

Coming back from hell, coming back with a whole new perspective…

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TBC…


	4. Different people still make the same mis...

**Chapter three: Different people still make the same mistakes.**

**A/N:** Thanks so much for the reviews – it's always nice to know what people think, so please keep them coming!

I hope you'll continue enjoying the story. Huge thanks to Ace!

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_A journey of a thousand miles always begins with one step.  
_

Grissom was alone in his office, sorting through the pile of paperwork that had lined up in front of him, threatening to fill every inch of space left, when he received a call.

He was actually quite relieved to hear that ring - anything that gave him a little break from the excruciatingly boring task ahead of him was very much welcomed.

"Grissom," he spoke into the receiver.

"Dr. Grissom, it's Judy," she answered with a high squeaky voice.

"Yes, Judy, what can I do for you?" he asked politely.

"You have a call on line three, I'll pass you through."

'Thanks," he thanked her and pressed the button with the number three, taking off his glasses in the process

"Grissom," he informed absently.

"Mr. Grissom," a tender voice answered from the other line, "this is Sharon Goodman speaking. I'm a nurse at Desert Palms hospital."

Grissom immediately tensed up. This wasn't how he was usually informed about cases involving victims that needed to be handled at the hospital, so it was quite odd that they would inform him in that particular manner.

"Yes? What's this about?" he asked, feeling a bit agitated.

"I am very sorry, but I have to inform you that Sara Sidle was involved in a car accident earlier tonight," she told him as gently as she possibly could.

His heart skipped a beat.

"You were registered as one of her emergency contacts," she continued.

In an instant, Grissom's entire world came crashing down on him, reducing him to the size of an ant.

Time seemed to stand still as he received punch after punch straight to his gut, until he thought he was about to get sick.

The oxygen in his lungs had dissipated, and his chest stopped moving.

A million thoughts passed thorough his head as one of the more dominant ones sent shivers down his spine and balls of fire through his nervous system, causing havoc and paralyzing him completely. That was the one about the end of his world, the end of everything he ever knew, everything he ever wanted, the end of him.

If he wasn't so much in shock, he probably would have gotten angry with himself for only thinking about himself at that moment. But he couldn't really help it, Sara was so much a part of him that it wasn't possible for him to think about her and not think of himself.

Sara was everything to him, even when he didn't want to admit it, even if he refused to admit it - she was everything, she was on his mind when he woke up, she was on his mind when went to sleep, she was on his mind even if she wasn't, somewhere, she was always there.

He was engaged in a strong battle - a battle against himself.

He had battled against these emotions, against these desires, but to no avail because he always ended up back in the same place, loving her, loving her from a distance, loving her in his dreams, in his fantasies, in his nights, and in his days. He had loved her so much that he couldn't imagine life without her.

He would lay in bed for hours thinking about her, imagining her beside him, and imagining her soft skin against his own, her moist lips against his. He imagined running his fingers through her smooth hair and sucking in a full breath of its scent.

He imagined pressing his head right above her heart and listening to it beat fast, watching her chest rising with each single breath - a breath that he would treasure more than anything else.

He imagined touching her, touching her like she had touched him a few years earlier in the pretence of wiping chalk off of his face.

Oh, what he wouldn't have done to be able to touch her in that way - to gently rub his palm against her cheek and feel her hot skin blushing under his, to touch her and do unholy things to her.

What he wouldn't have done to be able to see the look on her face when he did just that and proved to her that he was capable of human contact, proved to her that he was capable of that and much more.

And then when he had finally fallen asleep with a smile on his face, he would dream.

He dreamt that he had taken her to the beach and built sand castles with her, castles that withstood anything, ties and waves, man and nature, castles that would go on to stand forever if they were only allowed to.

He dreamed about her eyes, her smile, and her spirit; he dreamt about having her, her and only her.

He dreamt a lot of things, and when he woke up, and the smile disappeared, he started wishing.

He wished he could have just asked her out on a date and given her the best time of her life. He wished everything was different, and everything was possible.

He wished and hoped for so many things, but none of it mattered because for him, it was too late. He was too old and too accustomed to how things already were. His insecurities were already imbedded in him for so long that he didn't believe he could ever survive without them.

They were there for a reason; they were there to protect him, to keep him inside of his cocoon, and to shelter him against the world, against Sara. If they ever disappeared and allowed him to follow his heart, no good would have ever come out of it, for him or her. He was positive that he would never be able to live up to her standards or fulfill her needs. He thought that he would never be able to make her satisfied or happy, so he convinced himself that as soon as she found out who he really was, as soon as she revealed that he was nothing close to the enigma people considered him as, she would walk away. She would leave him, and she would break his heart, his body, and his soul. She would destroy him.

He had tried to justify to himself that it was about the job as well, that it wasn't just his doubts and insecurities, but his unwillingness to indulge in an office romance, that had a justified cause, the cause being his work - a very important work, work that he had purposely, or unconsciously, allowed to define him, define what he was, who he was. Work that he thought he would lose if such romance ever evolved. Work that if he indeed lost, he would have been lost with it.

It was a reasonably justified cause for not going along with it, or so he told himself, but the coldhearted truth was that it wasn't about the job, it was about him. He was just too afraid, too damn afraid of her.

To him, the second scariest thing in the world was Sara Sidle - the first scariest thing in the world was Sara Sidle's rejection.

Being with her was just too much of a risk, and he wasn't prepared to live on the edge, he wasn't prepared to jump off of that cliff without a safety rope, and he knew that such a rope would never be included as a part of the deal if he ever chose to accept it.

Whenever a little voice inside of him would disagree and tell him that it was not too late, that it was not the end, that he could still do something, anything, but if he didn't do it soon, it would be, he shut that little voice off. He turned it off like it never existed in the first place. Even when her own voice spoke, even when her own lovely voice would say things that sent him up to heaven and back, he ignored it. He ignored her words, he ignored her voice. Her tone of voice was clearly conveying her true emotions, her desires, but he still ignored it, shut it off, and told himself that it was anything but real, anything but true.

He had doubted her, he had doubted her feelings.

After that, he would sink into a denial that made him think that Sara would always be there, ready for him to come around, to change his mind, to need him.

He was either naive, stupid, or both; he wasn't sure.

**xxxxxx**

The long silence had triggered the woman to respond again. "Sir?"

The urgency in the woman's voice startled him, shaking him from his frozen status and pulling him out of his trance.

He finally took a breath, picked up his jaw from the floor, and struggled to get his words out. "Is…is she okay?" he stuttered, utterly terrified of the answer.

"I'm afraid I'm not allowed to discuss her condition over the phone," she said softly but firmly.

"Look, I'll be right there, can you please just tell me if she's alright?" he begged her.

"I'm sorry Sir, I…"

"Fine, fine, thank you," he cut her off, making a hand gesture to empathize his point as if she was right there.

He hung up the phone so fast he nearly broke it, grabbed his keys, and rushed into the hall, almost slamming into Greg.

Greg had little time to react, and Grissom didn't even stop to apologize for the trail of papers that he sent flying everywhere.

"Hey! No running in the hall remember!" he shouted at Grissom's retreating form.

"Grissom!" he shouted again, "Wait!"

"What about the test results you wanted!" he mumbled into thin air, his eyes scanning the floor that was now full of scattered papers.

"That was weird," he said, furrowing his brows in confusion.

"What's weird?" Mia appeared out of nowhere.

"Grissom," he replied.

"Isn't he always?" she asked with a smile, and she was met with Greg's accepting expression.

"Good point," he answered and nodded.

"I've never seen him like this though," he added, finding himself speaking to himself again as Mia quickly disappeared from his view.

"Great, that's just great," he muttered.

"Thanks for nothing!" he shouted again, gaining strange looks from passing onlookers.

**xxxxxx**

Grissom had no time to stop and inform the others of the situation, and frankly he didn't really want to, he just wanted to get there and get there fast.

Come hell or high water, he would get there.

He made his way to his SUV, all while painting every possible horrific mental image of what had happened to Sara, to his Sara.

Every horrible scenario passed through his head except for one, one that he couldn't even get himself to admit possible, one that he would never admit to himself because if he did, he wouldn't even make it past the parking garage - he would just have a heart attack right then and there, and they would have to scrape him off of the road.

He reached the car and struggled to open the door with his keys. His hands were trembling, hell, his whole body was trembling. His heart was beating quickly, so quickly that he could hear it ringing in his ears. His breaths were rapid and inconsistent, and his head was ready to explode from the huge amount of things rolling around in it, making him more anxious than he had ever been in his life.

When he finally managed to open the door, he stopped moving and took a moment to calm himself down. Getting himself into a car accident would not help Sara in any manner.

He then entered the driver's seat and started the car, taking deep breaths along the way.

**xxxxxx**

The trip to the hospital seemed like an eternity. Not knowing what had happened to Sara was painfully excruciating and not knowing her condition was worse. It was tearing him up from the inside, piece by piece, part after part. If someone was to ever torture him, no matter how bad it was, it would never come close to how he was feeling at that moment.

Pain wasn't the only thing he was experiencing though, other emotions that he was trying hard to keep at bay were burning him. He could feel them burning him, fire on his skin and on his face, flames running up and down his body, making him hot, so hot. Since he had received that call, the colors on his face had changed from sickly pale to hot red.

The vivid mental images of Sara in a car, drunk again, made him angry, furious even. How could she? How could she knowingly enter a car while drunk, knowing that it would be the end of her career if she was caught for a DUI again, knowing that she could end up in jail or worse, knowing all of that and still…

Then a thought he never believed he would ever consider struck him like a falling tree. What if she did it on purpose? What if this was more than a cry for help, what if this was all a part of a plan, a plan to get herself killed?

Ecklie's words penetrated his mind and started replaying in his head over and over again, making him shudder.

_"She's a loose cannon with a gun._"

'Is she?' he asked himself, 'would she go this far?'

Would she go to those lengths to put herself in harm's way?

Did her painful past finally come back to not only haunt her, but take possession of her, ruin her? Had she reached the point of no return?

After the "how's" and the "what's," the inevitable "why's" came falling at him like an asteroid hitting the Earth, dissolving it into a thousand little pieces. Why would she? Why would she feel like she needed to do that? Why didn't she ask for help? Why wasn't he there to help her? Why couldn't he pull his head out of his ass long enough so he could take notice, pay attention, treat her like she deserved to be treated, and love her like she deserved to be loved. Why, why, why?

As he heard those questions repeating themselves in his head over and over again, he started feeling incredibly stupid.

'Gil you're being ridiculous,' he scolded himself, 'Sara would never do that, not in a million years.'

Feeling his anger towards Sara waver slightly and his anger towards himself rising, he snapped out of his self pity mode and tried thinking logically. He reminded himself again that it was Sara, S-A-R-A for crying out loud. Sara Sidle for God's sake, she wasn't weak or fearful, she was a strong independent woman who never took crap from anyone, including himself.

So yeah, she was reckless at times, and yes, she had made mistakes, stupid mistakes, but everyone made mistakes, and it was becoming blatantly obvious to him that he did as well.

He tried to reason with himself and convince himself that she was probably fine and that he was getting worked up for nothing. He theorized that maybe it was just a small incident and that maybe it was nothing more than a little bumper to bumper accident. 'Everything will be fine,' he tried to sooth himself, 'Everything will be just fine.'

With that he had managed to calm himself down to a certain degree.

It didn't last long though, and he started to panic again, pressing hard on the accelerator. He was desperate to get there, desperate to find her walking and breathing, desperate to find her alive so he could tell her all of the things that he ever wanted to say to her. There wasn't any other option, so many things were left unsaid, and so many things were begging to come out into the open, begging for release.

"Come on, dammit!" he cussed when he hit a red light.

'Please, God, don't let it be too late.'

Just like that, he found himself praying, praying after a hiatus in prayer, praying like he had never prayed before.

**xxxxxx**

After another few nerve racking minutes, the large, white building finally loomed into view, and he breathed out a heavy sigh of relief.

**xxxxxx**

"Sara Sidle?" he asked loudly as he rushed up to the information desk in the lobby.

"I was told she was brought in after an accident," he continued, breathlessly.

"Yes Sir, can I see some ID first, please?" a young woman behind the desk asked, her eyes thoroughly scanning Grissom.

"Uh, yes, of course," he replied, his hands searching through both of his pockets.

He found his driver's license and quickly handed it to her.

"Patients name?" she asked.

"I already told…" he cut himself off, "Sidle, Sara Sidle," he continued.

"Just a moment," she said, spelling Sidle to herself as she carefully entered each letter into her computer with her long manicured fingers.

It didn't take long for Grissom to get very annoyed. He released an exasperated breath and wondered why the hell it was taking her so long.

He then looked at his watch for what was probably the sixth time in two minutes and prepared himself to give the woman a mouthful of his increasingly pissed off mood.

After she had confirmed Grissom's identity and matched it to the emergency contacts that were listed in front of her, she looked up.

"Ok, here we go," she announced, saving herself from a potential blow up.

"She was taken up to the ICU, third floor, try the elevator," she informed him with a slight smile.

"Thank you," Grissom told her quickly as he headed down the hall without giving her a second glance

**xxxxxx**

He only realized that the woman had mentioned the word ICU when he stormed into the elevator like a devastating tornado ready to destroy anything in its path, anything that stood in its way. He didn't give himself any time to digest the meaning of it; he just pressed the right button as quickly as he could and started preparing himself for whatever news that was awaiting him in the ICU.

**xxxxxx**

The elevator doors opened, and he stepped into a different world. There was a scenery of bright florescent lights, strong smells, and loud beeping sounds that made him want to return from whence he came. He wanted to run away like a little child and avoid everything that was undoubtedly about to hurt him like he had never been hurt before.

He took a deep breath and proceeded a little further down the hallway.

Taking small steps and deep breaths, he reached another desk and looked around. He noticed the very large amount of hospital equipment lying around everywhere. Unfortunately, it was probably only deserted for a short while at a time.

There weren't as many people as he thought would be in a place like that, so he figured it probably wasn't a very busy night.

Before he could say anything to the male figure that was occupying the space behind the desk, a man in a white lab coat emerged from behind one of the doors.

"Hello, Sir," a mild tenor voice greeted him, "can I help you with anything?"

"Yes, I'm looking for Sara Sidle. I was told she was brought in here," Grissom answered the younger man, his voice shaking.

"Are you DR. Grissom?" he asked, noticing the raw emotion on the older man's face.

"Yes," he replied with a gentle nod, his voice sounding quiet and sad but determined.

"I'm Dr. Miller," he spoke, extending his hand, "I work in the ER. I treated Ms. Sidle when she came in. I was just checking up on her actually."

Grissom's shook the other's man hand as his mouth went dry; his body's way of responding to his own desperate situation.

"How is she? Is she alright? Did she hurt anybody?" he asked quickly.

As the words escaped his lips, he regretted them dearly, wanting to take an extra minute, an extra week, to prepare himself for facing his deepest fears.

"No, no, she was involved in a hit and run. She…"

"What?" he interrupted after his heart plunged to his feet.

Completely mortified, he asked his next question.

"What are you talking about?" he hissed at the doctor, his face now cemented into a frown, his mouth twitching with disgust.

"Sara wouldn't do that," he insisted, shaking his head in dismay.

"That's not what I meant," the doctor responded, his hands rising in defense.

"She was brought here by a good samaritan," he started explaining.

"Apparently she was hit by a drunk driver, but I was told by the police that the guy turned himself in earlier."

"They have him in custody as we speak," he added, trying his best to reassure Grissom.

It took a long moment for the words to register in Grissom's mind as a wave of panic washed over him again. His eyes grew wide, and his body became paralyzed once more.

Suddenly, every ounce of animosity he saved for Sara and himself was directed at that person - the man that had dared to hurt Sara. He dared to hurt her and run away like a coward, leaving her to fend for herself, leaving her after he hit her with his car and caused bodily harm.

If he ever laid a hand on that man, it would take a whole police squad to stop him from killing the bastard.

The image of Sara wasting away somewhere, lying lifeless on the cold hard pavement in a pool of her own blood, broken and alone, shattered his heart into a million tiny pieces. He thought no one would ever be able to mend it.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, and for the first time that night, he struggled against the tears that were stinging his eyes, tears that had built up from the moment he received that dreadful call, tears that were threatening to leave his body completely drained.

He blinked hard, trying to shake his mind from the shocking images that he was sure he would never be able to forget.

"What's her condition?" he asked with a face filled with fear and worry, his blue eyes staring intensely through his glasses at the doctor's weary expression.

"Well," Dr. Miller began, "she arrived here with severe injuries, but we were able to stabilize her," he continued, his voice low but steady.

"She had to be intubated at the scene, but we removed the breathing tube earlier, and she can now breathe on her own."

Grissom's frantic brain immediately filled with questions, and he somehow managed to get one of them to travel from his brain to his mouth, voicing it out loud.

"What sort of injuries?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.

"She sustained a serious concussion, several broken ribs, a fractured leg, and some mild internal bleeding that was fortunately handled without any surgical means."

As Grissom heard the words, one after another, hanging onto every vowel as if the other man was in slow motion. His brain replaced one devastating image with another, creating a screen of total blackness that circled him and made him want to go to sleep and never wake up again.

"Other than that," he continued, "she had quite a few abrasions and contusions to the lower part of her body."

The room was now spinning and colors and sounds blended into one swirling entity, making him dizzy, and for a short moment, he thought he was about to pass out.

"Considering this type of accident, I'd say she was extremely lucky. It could have ended a lot worse, and let me tell you, I've seen worse."

"I expect her to make a full recovery," he finally added.

For the first time that night, Grissom's pulse started to slow down a bit, and a wave of relief washed over him, a wave that he more than gratefully accepted.

"Can I see her?" he asked almost inaudibly, looking a bit lost as well.

The doctor responded with sympathetic smile. "Sure, I believe she's awake."

"I'll ask one of the nurses to take you in to see her," he offered.

Grissom thanked him and began following the young nurse that was now leading him through dark corridors and well lit rooms.

"Right this way, Sir," she guided him.

As they stopped near the glass door entrance of Sara's room, the nurse regarded him, told him that Sara was inside, and that he only had a few minutes. He thanked her, nodded his agreement, and prepared himself for every possible horrible scenario his mind could come up with.

He released a long breath and tried to focus on what lay behind that door.

He then took a deep breath and stepped hesitantly inside.

'One step at a time,' he instructed himself, 'one step at a time.'

TBC…

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**A/N**: I have no medical background so I apologize if anything is not correct.


	5. Different decisions

**Chapter four: Different decisions.**

**A/N: Warning for mild offensive language.**

**Thanks again to Ace, for the great work and for fixing up what needed to be fixed.** **And thanks so much for the reviews.

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After several hours of confusion and incoherency, Sara's mind was now completely lucid, surprisingly lucid, and clear - she was seeing things more clearly than she had ever seen before.

Things were surprisingly numb and lukewarm, and she didn't know whether it was the drugs they gave her or her body's way of coping with the Trauma it had undergone.

She knew _something_ was different, and she couldn't point it out yet; she just prayed it would last.

She was lying in her hospital bed, awake, entirely aware. She didn't think she was ever this aware of her surroundings, of the people that came and went, or of herself.

She had always been very self-aware, and she had always been a person with high self-awareness, but never like this.

Most of the time she found that quality to be burden, and an inconvenience, to say the least. It just heightened her misfortunes, her pain, and her lack of control.

She was reminded of an article that she had once read – that in theory, highly self-aware people should be happy because they know themselves better when compared to low self-aware people. They attend to themselves more, since once they know who they are, they can start defining what they really want to become and grow toward self-improvement and contentment. However, research consistently showed that high self-consciousness was actually associated with both psychological health and distress — depression, low self-esteem, and anxiety.

Before tonight, Sara would have agreed with that paradox - it made sense, it always made sense, but not now.

Now she was discovering that the source responsible for the unusually high levels of self-awareness that she was experiencing had nothing do with depression, discontentment, or certain negative attributes that had dominated her throughout the past few years.

That source was still hidden from her view, but she didn't feel the urge to seek it. She didn't try to rationalize it or make sense of it; she was just glad it was there.

That was enough for her; it was enough to know that something had changed. Something had changed for the better because it was better, she just didn't know why - yet.

The details of her accident were still a bit sketchy, so the gaps in her memory were filled in by a nice looking doctor, or was it a med student? She wasn't sure, and she didn't really care enough to ask.

Everything she _could_ remember was still in the form of a puzzle - a puzzle she had all of the parts to, but some of them were still floating away somewhere out of her reach.

She tried figuring out when it happened, when something had hit her, when everything went black, but she wasn't doing a great job with it. All she could confirm was that she was in her apartment, and then she went out for a jog. After that, things were getting complicated to recall.

Sara was almost positive that she went into the coffee house, but she wasn't completely sure. She remembered seeing a couple there, but was it tonight, or some other day?

'No, it was tonight… I know because…_Shit_…Definitely tonight,' Sara grimaced as a little piece of the puzzle found its way and attached itself to other parts.

She still couldn't believe this was happening to her… to _her _of all people. How many bad things could happen to one person? She rolled her eyes at the irritating realization.

She then closed her eyes for a second and felt a rush of anger and guilt start to build up inside of her.

'Be careful what you wish for, Sara,' she scorned herself, her jaw clenching tightly.

The regret and the anger - they were all familiar emotions that she had dealt with for a long time, but they were always wrapped up in a package together with the self-hatred and self-loathing; they never came up to her like this.

Something was different this time, in a way she couldn't quite explain. They weren't linked to each other in a long chain anymore, binding her and restricting her from feeling anything else. The chain had broken, and she was now moving, free to walk away.

However, she soon came across other negative emotions, but these ones didn't have the same devastating effect on her, they just seemed to lay on the surface, pricking her like little needles barely even penetrating her skin.

The slight noticeable change in her emotional atmosphere was the first sign that things were starting to look a whole lot better from her point of view.

Everything looked better, everything felt better, to the point where she had to wonder if she was fed with a happy pill before she had woken up in the hospital.

Technically she wasn't exactly happy, she was still far from happy, if she ever knew what happy was, but the opposite side of happiness was a whole lot further, a thousand miles further, and it had been a really long time since she was this far from the dark side.

Surviving a near-death experience probably had a lot to do with her new perspective on things, but Sara was sure it wasn't all caused by the various opioids that were running thorugh her system.

It was real, she was sure of that; this wasn't some sick joke her body had played on her. It was the real deal, and she wasn't about to accept any alternate possibility.

More than anything, she just needed to believe that what had happened to her had happened for a reason, that it wasn't another curve ball designed to finally push her off of the edge, but a ball she was destined to catch and throw back into oblivion. So she did, she believed.

This was not going to be a last straw that would signal the start of her demise - she was more than determined to prevent that from happening.

With renewed energy and a refreshed outlook, she once again tried to recall the events that led her to her current location.

'Okay, so, let's see…,' she started arranging thoughts in her head, taking a deep breath and preparing herself for the upcoming reminiscence.

'Apartment, running, coffeehouse, couple, crying, death wish, home, black, pain,' she listed the events in her head like they were nothing more than a shopping list.

Fortunately for her, the memories between the 'home' and 'pain' were completely erased from her mind, and she was truly thankful for that. She had a hard time coping with the outcome of the accident as it was; she didn't want to remember and relive yet another painful memory.

'Look at the bright side Sara, at least amnesia is not a part of that list. That could have really been something,' she told herself and was relieved to find out that her sarcasm was still intact.

'Could my life be any more cliché?' she asked herself rhetorically.

'I could have easily filled up a bunch of cheap novels with my life story,' she proclaimed to herself, 'no problem.'

'Sara Sidle's life story - a messed up childhood, her mother murdering her father, the emotionally unavailable man she'd been in love with for the past decade or so, either ignoring her or manipulating her; she becomes suicidal; she's hit by a drunk driver, and she gets amnesia, read all about it,' her smile grew wider, and she struggled not to laugh. She didn't want to laugh - she could still barely breathe, let alone laugh.

She nodded slightly in spite of the pain in her neck, 'Definitely a best seller.'

She then rewound a couple of thoughts back to the 'drunk driver' part, and her smile disappeared along with the urge to laugh.

_"You were hit by a drunk driver,"_ she recalled the doctor's words.

'Drunk driver,' she repeated the two words again, letting them echo through her head.

'Can't get any more ironic than that,' she admitted, and oddly enough, there was no bitterness to go along with the admission, just a slight sting of sadness and a bucket full of remorse.

Sara turned her head and stared out the locked window. She didn't know what time it was since they had taken her watch, but the beautiful colors of yellow, red, and purple reflecting through the window all meshed up together to form a line of stunning bright stripes were evidence of the upcoming sunrise, a sunrise that for the first time in her life would hold a different meaning that just a beautiful sunrise. The hot planet would not only signal the start of a new day but the start of a new life.

She decided to make sure, from that moment on, that her new life was more than a mere existence of working, eating, and sleeping.

She would treasure that life and do her best to preserve it, no matter how hard of a struggle it might turn out to be.

Enough was enough; misery had been her friend, or _enemy,_ for too long, and it was time to venture out and find a new company, one that couldn't hurt her as much or make her lose sight of herself.

She knew that, that life would not be free of the past; she could never put it behind her because she would never be able to forget it, or _him_. It was a part of her, and _he_ was a part of her, but she vowed they would never hold her captive under their tight grasps again.

Sara vowed that they would never control her life or her entire existence and that she would never allow them to take her down a dark path ever again.

She was done, done with the dwelling and the whining, done with the waiting, waiting for happiness, waiting for him. She was going to take control of her world, of her destiny. If happiness didn't find her, she would find it, or at least try. She would have to fight hard for it, but she was more than prepared for the challenge.

Sara had made her decision, and she was going to stick by it; she was leaving.

She was going to leave what she should have left years ago: resentment and bitterness. She would leave Las Vegas, and she would leave him. This time, he could send her a thousands plants, he could scream and beg, hell, he could even ask him to marry her, but all she would say would be no thanks and goodbye.

It would pain her, pain her more than anything, but the decision was made, and she was going to stick by it.

'Should have been hit by a car five years ago," she thought sadly, 'would have saved he and I a whole lot of trouble.'

Sara's train of thought was interrupted as she noticed a figure approaching her from the corner of her eye.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

His palms were sweating, and his fists were clenched by his sides. He was petrified.

He was sure he was ready to say all of the things that he ever wanted to say to her. He was sure nothing could stop him from telling her the things she needed to hear, the things he needed her to hear, but it all went out the door as soon as he entered the room.

He realized then that it would be absolutely absurd to do that. He knew all too well that any surprising declarations of love from his part, at this time, and in these circumstances could easily be misinterpreted as a mere lapse of reason, or God forbid, pity. He couldn't believe that he actually even thought about doing that. What was wrong with him? Did he completely lose it?

Of course he lost it. He thought that he had blown his chance and that he would never see her again. He thought he lost her.

There weren't many things that pulled Grissom into irrational thinking, but even the slightest prospect of the one thing, the one person in his life that he would never be able to live without, dying, lying on a coroner's table, sliced and opened up was more than enough to make him lose control over his body, his mind, and the part of his brain that was responsible for logical thinking. What logical thinking? When it came to Sara, logical thinking was not a part of his vocabulary.

He was well aware of that; he could fight it and deny it until he had no strength to, but he would still be aware of the power that Sara had over him.

He didn't like that fact, he hated it, he was scared of it because ultimately, one of his worse fears was the loss of control. It had always been about his fear of losing control, everything he ever did was derived from that fact - his failed relationship, his inability to properly display his emotions, his inability to form close bonds. It all stemmed from his main fear of losing control because if he did lose control, he would have been vulnerable to anything, and he couldn't allow that, he couldn't allow himself to open up and be vulnerable; it was way too risky.

And indeed, he never allowed it. He didn't allow it until Sara came along, and all he could do was watch her destroy all of the thick walls that he had built in four decades of hard work.

Not to say he didn't try to fight it, to fight her, but it was one war he couldn't win. It was a war that he had already lost before he even went to battle.

So the only thing he could have really done was to stay away from her, from the world she brought with her, from the cloud of eminent danger that surrounded her. He considered her to be a danger, a serious danger, to the way he functioned, to the way he lived his life, and to everything he had ever known.

Tonight that changed; that danger was replaced with a fear that his life would never be more than an empty shell, that his whole life would mean nothing. He couldn't take that chance - he couldn't take the chance that his life was about to end before it even had a chance to start.

Grissom had made a decision to wait for just a little longer, but as soon as she got out of that place, as soon as she was up to facing him and his decisions, he would have to say goodbye to security, reason, and control. He was going to risk everything, and he didn't care; he didn't frickin' care. He needed her, he wanted her, and by God, he would get her.

He had entered the terrifying little space and stopped near the entrance, glancing at the well lit hospital room.

He noticed two beds; the one closer to the door was empty, and the other one at the opposite side of the room was closed with a curtain. The bright florescent lights were starting to hurt his eyes, and he blinked to relieve the stress.

Gathering the little bit of courage he still had, he started walking slowly to the dreaded little space where Sara would be lying, but he only made it half way there before his legs started to buckle.

'Gil Grissom, you better get a hold of yourself. It's too late to turn back now,' he reprimanded himself, and he was right, it was too late to turn back now.

As he proceeded, he made a mental note that he would bring her flowers the next time he visited, and as he continued, doing his very best not to pass out along the way, he noticed a shade moving behind the white hospital curtain.

He shuddered at the rattling sound of the curtain being moved.

"Oh, sorry, sir, I didn't know anyone was here," said a young nurse with a slightly frightened voice.

Grissom cocked his head at her, a bit confused by the whole situation; he wasn't expecting to see another nurse.

"It's alright," he assured her, "Is it okay to see her?" he asked, his voice just above a whisper.

"Yeah, sure," the nurse replied with a tentative smile.

"I have a lot to do, but I'll need to check on her later," she continued and began to walk away from him.

He then stepped a little closer, his heart thumping hard inside his chest, his pulse climbing to a three digit number, and for a second, he fought the urge to stop and measure its speed. He quickly chased away that thought; doing that was probably not the best of ideas, but then again, great ideas were in serious short supply at the moment.

Closing the distance between them, he took a final small step, fearing what he would have to face in next few seconds, expecting a sight that would terrify him to death, and he wasn't far wrong.

It took him a few long seconds to take in the sight - Sara was awake, her head slightly turned in the other direction. He ran his eyes over her body, traveling up and down, stopping at each IV line that disappeared under her skin, tracking each tube that disappeared under the sheets.

He then took an extra moment to examine the small bandage on her temple. It was a small and unremarkable bandage, but that didn't stop a surging hatred towards the man responsible for causing the wound to threaten to erupt inside of him.

When he was done inspecting that part, he shifted his gaze down to study the small gash near her mouth, all the while fighting to push down the bile in his throat.

The slight bruising on her face was not as bad as he had thought it would be, but he could only see one side because she still refused to acknowledge his presence.

She was also unusually pale, as pale as the china dolls his mother used to collect. The fragile and delicate dolls had bared a frightening resemblance to the younger woman in front of him, and that did not sit well with him. Grissom's comparison was quite fitting, for he could still see the beauty beyond the delicate cracks that used to adorn the small dolls, and that were now adorning the passionate CSI.

He couldn't see anything below her chest since she was covered with a hospital sheet, and that was a relief. He had to admit to himself that he had imagined her naked body on more than one occasion, but his imagination was already working overtime; seeing the real thing now was not a high priority, and seeing her hurt was not something he would ever look forward to.

The gruesome pictures that he had imagined of her during what could only be described as a harsh ordeal were going to haunt his mind for as long as he lived. He certainly didn't want to make it worse by adding a real image to the list.

Seeing her like that had severed a nerve deep inside of him, but he had to remind himself that although she was hurt, it wasn't irreversible, she was still in one piece, and that was the most important thing – that meant the most to him.

Before he knew it, he was staring at her, his intestines tying themselves in knots, and his mind going completely blank, he suddenly realized that he had no idea what to say to her.

Taking a deep calming breath, he opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He had to remind himself to breathe again as his lungs stopped inhaling, and his body became rigid.

His whole body cringed inwardly as the feeling of helplessness took its position right in the pit of his stomach.

Grissom was suddenly overcome with the urge to hug her, hold her in his arms, and comfort her. He was so sorry that he wasn't going to be able to do that, to be there for her the way that he wanted.

It broke his heart, but he would just have to pick up the pieces and remind himself that it was another thing that fell under the category of 'inappropriate.'

He swallowed hard, pushing the bile down his throat once again, managing to regain his composure long enough to utter a single three letter word.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

The drugs were wearing off a little, allowing small waves of dull pain and unpleasant sensations to appear throughout her body, so she figured it was time for another fix of those fabulous drugs that they gave her. _'Oh, the miracles of modern medicine.'_

Sara didn't have to wait long as another young nurse, who appeared to be a part of a long list of lovely nurses coming in every couple of minutes or so, started replacing some IV bags that hung beside her body. It didn't bother her since she presumed that she was about to be saved from any further discomfort.

She didn't like the next thing the nurse did though, which was shining a bright light into her tired eyes, causing her to wince in pain.

The nurses and that doctor seemed to be doing that a lot in the past few hours, so she figured she must have a pretty serious concussion to warrant such close attention.

They didn't actually come out and tell her that she had a concussion. The only thing that they did tell her, or at least the only thing that she could remember them telling her about her condition, was that she had quite a few injuries, and they would have to keep a close eye on her for the next few days.

They also told her not to worry. She was going to be fine, and all she needed to do was rest and concentrate on getting better. That was exactly what she was planning on doing.

She thought she heard them say something about a leg and physiotherapy, but by then she was way too tired to bother listening.

When the nurse was done, Sara thanked her and once again tilted her head toward the window. She closed her eyes and planned on catching some sleep which she was sure would be interrupted yet again in a couple of minutes. Her plans were cut short as she heard two whispering voices, one of which was strangely familiar.

She shot open her eyes, but by the time she spotted him from the corner of her eye, it was too late for any decent reaction or a well-thought saying - she just froze.

'Oh god, not now,' she bit her lip, almost drawing blood. She didn't want to see him or face him, not right now when she had just made the very crucial decision of leaving him.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

He cleared his throat, never shifting his gaze from her beautiful profile.

"Hey," he said softly, grabbing a chair and sitting down next to her bed.

When his simple greeting reached her ears, she was left with no choice but to reluctantly turn her head and regard him.

Their eyes locked for a brief minute as they both took the time to study each other's features.

Sara was stunned; was it her imagination, or did he really look that bad? The redness in his eyes had stood out the most, but the other disheveled parts of him weren't left unnoticed. He looked stricken by something that she could not identify because there was never a previous similarity to compare it with. Was she the cause for her supervisor's strange appearance?

She didn't want another hope dashed and another expectation shattered, so she quickly dismissed the theory and chalked it up to the slight haze that she was still experiencing.

Right next to her, Grissom's mind had formed its own questions, for he could finally see her entire face.

Something was different in her eyes, something he couldn't put his finger on. Was it pain, sadness, some other emotion he never knew existed? Why was it so damn hard for him to read other people's emotions, Sara's emotions? Was he even sure he wanted to?

The deafening silence had dragged on to an agonizingly slow minute, and the tension in the room had become palpable.

Grissom finally dropped his eyes, losing the staring match to his younger opponent.

After she couldn't bare the uncomfortable uneasiness that had settled between them any longer, Sara finally broke the silence.

She was not going to make this any easier, so she went straight to the point. "Grissom, what are you doing here?" she asked hoarsely.

Sara's question felt like a punch in the stomach for Grissom. Was she just confused and didn't remember anything about emergency contacts, or did she think he didn't care enough to be there? It hurt him to think that she would even consider that, but he knew he deserved her skepticism - he had given her no reason to think otherwise.

"I was registered as one of your emergency contacts," he explained, trying hard to disguise the hurt in his voice.

"They called you?" she questioned, and not waiting for an answer, she continued, "I'm sorry, I've been meaning to put the lab, but…"

"Sara it's ok," he interjected, raising his hands in a soothing gesture, "I understand."

"Did I pull you from a running case?" she prodded further.

"No, I was just doing some paperwork when they called me," he paused, and before she could take his answer the wrong way, he added, "It doesn't matter, I would have come anyway."

Not wanting to ponder on the meaning of his latest statement, she quickly changed the topic. "Does anyone else know I'm here?"

"No…I uh…" he replied, licking his lips nervously, "didn't have any time to let the others know…" he added, and as soon as the words left his mouth, he realized that he had just given her some sort of admission that he wasn't prepared to make.

Sara furrowed her brows in confusion. What did he mean by not having time to let the others know? He said he was in the office, was no one else there? Did he want to make sure he didn't violate her privacy? Or did he mean something else?

Grissom was about to ask her if she wanted him to call anyone for her, but sensing that she was onto him, he told himself that he would ask her later.

He then made a quick getaway to the safe realm of small talk. "How are you feeling?"

'What was that all about?' Sara wondered as she took in a breath, releasing it with a heavy sigh. "I've had better days," she answered.

He raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I can see that."

"Gee, thanks Griss, you sure know how to compliment a lady," she said with only a slight hint of humor in her tone.

Confused and obviously not taking the joke, he awkwardly apologized, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"

"Relax Griss," she cut him off, "I was just kidding," she told him, managing to conjure a smile in spite of herself.

He nodded in embarrassment. "Oh."

They both simultaneously broke eye contact, their faces not facing each other. Silence had once again taken a stubborn stance between them, and for a moment, Sara's mind wandered off to much happier times where the silence between them was a comfortable one, and they didn't feel the need to fill it with anything; times that seemed a thousand light years away.

It was then that she considered telling him about her decision, but it didn't take her long to decide against it. She knew him too well to know that he would just dismiss it anyway and associate it with her current condition, plus, she wasn't in the mood for arguing, and she was pretty sure that he wasn't either.

Again, she was the first one to break the silence. "So, did they tell you already?"

Grissom's eyes narrowed at her.

"About what happened," she explained, and he nodded in response.

"Ironic isn't it?" she asked.

"It was my fault," she confessed, not letting him have a chance to answer her own rhetorical question.

Grissom's brow furrowed. He was completely surprised by her statement. What was she talking about?

"Sara. It wasn't your fault," he spoke softly, "they told me what happened."

"I know…I meant…" she stopped, letting her sentence trail off into silence.

Feeling tears welling up inside of her, she closed her eyes for a second and tried hard to force them down; the last thing she wanted to do right now was cry. She couldn't afford to cry in front of him again; she'd just have to deal with her emotions later.

"You wouldn't understand," she finally said.

Grissom took a moment to process the possible meanings as the same doubts he had earlier crawled their way into his mind. What did she mean by that? Was she trying to tell him she jumped in front of the car, that she did it on purpose? He had to find out, even if the possible answers would scare him half to death.

"So, make me understand," he said gently, holding his breath, waiting to hear her response, expecting an admission of guilt that would crush him.

"Forget about it," she told him simply, screwing her face up in an attempt to control her emotions.

"No, Sara," he said firmly, wondering again if deep inside of her beautiful body she carried demons strong enough to make her do something terrible, something that went against her personality, morals, and beliefs.

"I want to know why you think this is your fault," he pressed on, desperate to get to the bottom of it.

"Grissom, you don't really want to know," she stated matter of factly.

Grissom shifted in his seat. "How do you know what I want?

Feeling on the defensive, she blew out a breath and fixed him with an annoyed glare. "Look, Grissom…" she managed to say in a voice stronger than she felt, "I appreciate you coming here, but I'm really tired."

Grissom got the hint and felt like an intruder all of a sudden. He nodded in response. He didn't want to leave it like that, but he respected her wishes, and he wasn't about to upset her when she was still so broken. He would just have to find out later.

"Okay," he agreed with a sigh, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Grissom, this is tomorrow," she pointed out with her head, her eyes drifting to the window.

"Well…" he started, pressing his lips together, "I'll see you in a couple of hours then," he continued, raising his arms slightly in the air.

"Thanks, but that won't be necessary," she lied. At first she didn't want him around, but now that he was here, his comforting presence was something that she was going to miss.

Her words rendered Grissom speechless for a moment, and she could clearly see the hurt in his eyes, but she didn't regret it. He needed to know that she was done playing the little school girl who chased after the boy she had a crush on.

He needed to know that she wasn't going to depend on him for approval anymore, or for anything else for that matter.

The game was over, and it was time to admit defeat. She wasn't going to complain about the cheating or the unfairness. She was going to stand proud and walk away, knowing she gave it all her best, knowing that it was time to move on.

Grissom watched her for a long moment. If he didn't know better, he would have believed her, but he knew her, and he knew her eyes, and they were telling an entirely different story.

He leaned forward, grabbed her hand, and squeezed it. "I'll see you in a couple of hours," he repeated, determined to let her know that in spite of her protest, he wasn't going to bail out on her now.

"Get some rest."

Sara looked down at his hand, annoyed at herself for allowing him to make her feel like she was about to lose something, something that she had never had in the first place.

Grissom then stood up and walked away, leaving her dumbfounded for what seemed like the millionth time, leaving her to wonder if she had made the right decision.

TBC…

* * *

**Please leave a review!**


	6. Different pains

**A/N: **Thanks so, so much to Ace. :)

* * *

Grissom exited the big white building, unprepared to meet with the blinding bright lights of the early hours of the morning. Dazzled, he quickly moved his gaze downward, closing his eyes for a brief moment as the magnitude of the night's events had just started sinking in.

A few hours ago, the worst thing that he thought could have happened to him was not finishing his paperwork in time and having Ecklie breathing down his neck as a result, but now, he had to deal with far greater concerns, ones that he wished his muzzled brain would just forget and block out. But if that were to happen, someone would have to knock him unconscious.

The brief encounter with Sara had left him with a bitter taste, causing him to want nothing more than to spit out the invisible wretched flavor, and pretend the damn thing hadn't already left a permanent mark inside his mouth.

But he couldn't, for there was no real physical sign that anything had gone wrong with him. If people had passed him by at that time, they never would have guessed that the seemingly unaffected man who stood across from them, motionless, had an uncontrollable storm raging inside of him, so fierce that his heart was being torn apart by the sheer force, and it hurt so much he could cry.

They never would have guessed, or known, that the man was not even remotely close to feeling anything like the false, calm façade he was exhibiting, but then again, why would they? He had made damn sure that no one would ever be capable of doing so, he had taught himself to be the master of emotional disguises, and it would have taken someone extremely special and gifted to have been able to see through those masks.

Someone like Sara.

There was no one around though. No people, no Sara, only he and his thoughts, accompanied by his worries and his indescribable need to hit something or someone.

In the course of the latest hour or so, he had gone from panicking about the possibility of Sara not being alive, to worrying about Sara not wishing to be. So now that she was physically safe, a heavy burden had been lifted off his chest, only to allow for another one to take its place – a burden of guilt.

He couldn't escape from the obvious conclusion that he was a part to blame for Sara's possible mental condition.

There was no way of avoiding the simple truth that for the past five years he had been a bastard to her.

Just as he was aware of the power she had over him, he knew the power he had over her was even stronger. After all, the woman had waited for him for five long years, and if he ever stopped playing dumb and had given her a loud and clear message that he wasn't interested, she would have moved on a long time ago.

But he didn't. He kept playing with her, with her feelings, and whenever she had shown signs that she had had enough of his bullshit, he would say something or do something that caused her to take a step back and remain silent.

It was a way for him to not have her and still make sure no else would either.

What a selfish bastard he was.

He wished he would have realized that sooner, or at least admitted to it, so that maybe none of this would have happened, and he wouldn't have had to stand there, wanting to bang his head against the wall.

It's not like he was just a manipulating prick though; he had to add another adjective to his growing list of negative traits. So he did just that; he added 'fool'.

What a fool he was for not confronting his fears and doubts when he should have, and for tricking himself into believing that everything would stay the same if he stayed the same. And in hindsight, it was probably the worst mistake he had ever made.

Grissom didn't know whether he had done all those things consciously or not, but if he hadn't, it still wouldn't have prevented him from feeling like he should be punished for his actions, or for the lack of them.

There were no excuses for what he had done, and even though he knew it was pretentious of him to assume that his poor treatment toward her was to blame, he was still responsible - he should have picked up the clues that something was wrong with her. He was a criminalist for God's sake; they paid him to know these things.

He should have known, dammit; he should have done something, anything_. 'If only I didn't allow things to __go this far_,' his mind taunted him, and the 'what if' parade began marching inside of his head.

He could have stood there berating himself for a long time if he hadn't finally admitted to himself that in spite of everything he thought and felt, he didn't believe anything could have prepared him for this. There was just no way he could have predicted that Sara, intentionally or not, would be involved in an accident, and he couldn't have known that his reaction to it would have been this devastating.

Grissom had never even considered the possibility of Sara being gone; he had always thought that the worst possible scenario concerning her was her leaving, but for that, he always had a back up plan, far more complicated than sending a plant, if such wishes ever arose in her again. The concept of her early death though, was far too grim for him to even cross his mind, and for a man who always had an answer for everything, such an event was not even a part of the test.

He was thrown off balance by something he had no control over, but the harsh reality that he would need to face in the next few minutes, days, and weeks, meant that he would urgently need to recondition himself emotionally in order to adapt to his current situation - which he was surly not familiar with, everything about it was unfamiliar. This new emotional roller coaster he was riding in was turning out to be faster and scarier than he had ever anticipated, and he couldn't find a way to stop it, nor did he wish to.

He had never felt so hurt in his life, physically, and mentally. He didn't know where he was coming from or where he would go next. What he did know was that the short hospital visit had left him in a state of exhaustion, and he was finding it hard to think.

He could painfully sense the adrenaline slowly draining out of his system, his muscles twitching in painful chains of spasms, and the hammer banging inside his skull indicating to him that he was having a migraine. The way he felt at that time, he might of as well had been hit by a car himself.

All he wanted to do was lay in his comfortable bed and forget that night ever happened; well, he didn't really want to forget, he didn't think he deserved to, but he did wish he could just have a break from the images, the possible meanings, and the new decisions. He wished he could have a break from himself.

He wanted to sleep; right now he _needed_ to sleep.

But with so much going on in his head, would he really be able to? Would he _ever_ be able to sleep?

There was so much at stake, for him and Sara.

The things he would have to deal with in the future and the decisions he would have to execute were all making his stomach turn.

Whatever he decided to do would lead to major changes and would result in huge consequences, and he couldn't make any more mistakes; he had to do things right this time.

If he was to ever become the suitable partner that Sara deserved, some things would have to change.

The days of being a socially inept individual would have to come to an end, and if he was to ever get lucky enough to be in a relationship with Sara, there would be no room in his life for the usual ambiguity which he had insisted upon using again and again when he couldn't find any other way to express himself adequately.

Other behavioral rituals that he had grown accustomed to would need to be replaced with new ones. From now on, being passive and avoiding everything that could potentially leave him vulnerable would not be an alternative for facing what he feared the most. And if rejection happened, so be it. Aggressiveness would be his new defense mechanism; his new way of coping with the world. With Sara, he would not give up without a fight.

His list of priorities would also need some serious readjustment because at that point, the job didn't matter to him. He'd worry about the job later; right now priority number one was Sara - everything else was irrelevant.

He wasn't sure he was capable of doing all those things, but he had to try. He just had to try for Sara; he owned her at least that much.

Grissom didn't know how much he needed to change for her, and if he knew her half as well as he thought he had, she would never ask him to, but he wanted to - he needed to.

He only hoped that he would be given a chance to; he hoped she could forgive him for his mistakes and allow him to make things right. He wished and prayed that it wasn't too late, for him or her.

He would certainly have to plan his actions carefully, but before he could do anything, he needed call Brass first. He had to find out what happened; he desperately needed to know if Sara had done the unthinkable.

Knowing Brass' P.D connections and his own connections very well, there wasn't going to be much of a problem gaining access to the culprit and interrogating him.

So what if his intentions weren't going to be very pure - screw it. Even though there was a chance that the rage residing inside of him would not show itself in its usual calm and old fashioned way, if such a confrontation occurred, he still needed to do it; he needed some peace of mind.

For the most part, he just needed to occupy his mind because if he'd be pissed enough at that guy, it meant he wouldn't be so busy being pissed off at himself, and if his body filled with hatred, it meant there couldn't be enough room for the guilt and regret - he would rather hate someone else than hate himself.

**XXXXX**

Taking a deep breath, he slowly made his way back to his car, every step turning out to be one hard effort after another.

When he reached his SUV, an earlier thought crossed his mind, and he cursed himself for forgetting to ask Sara about the others.

He had to remind himself that he wasn't the only one who cared for her - there were other people in her life that hadn't inflicted her with pain like he had, and there was no question that they would want to know. After all, she was their friend as well, and right now, he was sure that she could use all the support she could get.

He climbed into the driver's seat and pulled out his cell phone from his pocket. The small screen flashed out the words 'You have 7 new messages,' and he finally figured out that people were probably wondering where the hell he was.

Disappearing in the middle of the shift and not answering his cell phone was bound to leave some question marks.

Following his latest decision, he speed dialed Brass' number, and he soon heard the detective's voice from the other line, which he thought held a mixture of annoyance and concern in it.

"Grissom!" he practically screamed, "Where the hell are you? I've been trying to reach you for the past hour…"

"Listen…" he paused before continuing, lowering the volume of his voice considerably, "there's something I need to tell you, it's about Sara…"

_He knows._

Grissom closed his eyes and mentally sighed; he knew the other man had a special bond with Sara, and he was definitely relived to find out that he didn't have to break the bad news to him.

"I know, Brass," he told him softly, his tone sounding calm and contained, unlike the way his body felt, "I just saw her in the hospital."

"Is she alright?" Brass asked, his voice notably edgy with concern and fear for his younger co-worker and friend.

"She's in a pretty bad shape, but the doctor I've spoken to seemed to be optimistic," Grissom replied honestly.

"Well," Brass thought for a second, "I was just on my way to the hospital, but I got a call, and apparently the scumbag who hit her turned himself in."

"I'm in the midst of processing him right now," he added.

"Good. You won't mind if I meet you at the station then," Grissom said nonchalantly as though he was merely setting up an appointment, "I'd like to meet him myself."

Brass weighed Grissom's words carefully, and if he hadn't known the man, well, as much as he could have, he wouldn't have contemplated the suspicious indication that he had detected in the other man's voice, which prompted an alarm to flicker inside his head.

He understood Grissom's need to confront the perp for injuring one of his team members; he was indeed somewhat responsible for his younger subordinate's wellbeing. It wasn't like he hadn't thought about chopping the jerk's head off himself, but he couldn't help but wonder if something else was going on, something deeper.

He was well aware of the feelings Sara had for the forensic entomologist. He didn't think anyone who worked with them wasn't aware of it, but just as her feelings were obvious, Grissom's, on the other hand, were far from decipherable.

Brass could admit to himself that he, like the rest, had frequently viewed Grissom as a man devoid of all emotions, but every so often, Grissom would prove him wrong.

He had seen him displaying all sorts of feelings on several different occasions, mostly during those rare cases that had affected him slightly more than usual, and similar feelings that he had shown when concerning Sara weren't completely lost on him either. He often wondered if those feelings were the same as his own toward the young woman, if they were more like his own paternal concerns, but his gut instincts that he had learned to rely on during his years in law enforcement were telling him otherwise.

"Gil, I don't think that's a very good idea," he told him gently, wishing the other man would agree and leave it at that, but at the same time knowing that the chances for that happening were slim.

On the other line, as Brass figured, Grissom was not planning on giving up that easily. "I promise I'll behave," he responded innocently and quickly added, making sure the other man would have no time to protest, "I'll meet you at the station in fifteen."

Brass was hardly surprised by Grissom's reply. Hearing a click, he spoke loudly into his cell, "Grissom!" But it was too late; the man on the other line had already hung up.

**XXXXX**

After he had placed his cell phone back in his pocket, Grissom pulled out his keys, started the car, and drove away. With his goals clearly set in mind, he blessed the fact that for the next hour or so, there were no questions or doubts as to what he needed to do, and there was nothing to stop him from doing so.

**XXXXX**

"Grissom!" a voice shot from across the room, "Over here!"

Hearing his voice called, Grissom turned around quickly and correctly assumed that the familiar voice belonged to his friend.

Brass slowly made his way toward him while he remained glued to his spot.

"Whoa, that was quick!" the detective shot out again once he reached him.

Now that Grissom was in clear view, Jim could clearly see the weariness in the other man's expression. "What did you do, run every stop sign on your way?" he asked jokily as he searched his face for any hints of amusement - there were none. His attempt to lighten up the mood passed right through Grissom, whose eyes were now thoroughly scanning the loud and busy station, as if he was expecting the criminal to be led down the hall at any second, perhaps so he could jump him right there and tear him apart.

Brass watched him carefully and waited patiently for him to stop his diligent inspection.

Finally feeling he was being scrutinized, Grissom's eyes traveled back to the man standing in front of him, meeting his worried eyes.

He blinked slowly, placing his hands in his pockets. "Where is he, Jim?" he queried with a firm tone, his question almost sounding like a demand.

Brass, surprised by Grissom's assertiveness, did not answer right away, taking the time to study him further. He was now beginning to regret his earlier attempt at humor since Grissom was clearly not in the mood for jokes, not that he could blame him.

"He's in lockup right now," he answered, completely serious, "But listen Grissom…" his voice softened as he prepared him for his next statement, "We've got it covered here, the kid came out of his own free well, and he already admitted to hitting her and leaving the scene."

"Looks like you had a rough night," he said, knowing it wasn't a lie - Grissom did not look good. "Why don't you go home and get some sleep?"

Grissom broke eye contact. Turning his head to the side, he cautiously observed his surroundings once again. "I will," he paused and nodded, "when I find out what happened."

"I told you what happened, Gil…" the detective folded his hands across his chest as he continued, "The guy blew .12; he shouldn't have been driving."

Gil quickly jerked his head back, immediately finding the new information a slight relief. It couldn't have been a coincidence that Sara would throw herself in front of a car which had no business being on the road in the first place, couldn't it?

".12?" he asked in mock-horror.

Shaking his head softly he continued, "He shouldn't have been walking Jim, let alone driving."

Brass nodded slowly, "Well, he did the right thing by coming in," and without further comments he proceeded to state the facts, "His name's Gavin Dale, nineteen years old, no priors."

"I had a little chat with him earlier… as much as I can call it that, since it was mainly composed of me talking and him bawling his eyes out."

"He looks like a good kid, Grissom, I think he just made a very stupid mistake tonight, but at least he knows it," he acknowledged with a slight shrug, "He does seem genuinely distraught by what he's done."

Grissom's jaw dropped a little, 'What the hell?' he thought, not quite sure he had heard correctly.

"And you fell for that?" he blurted out angrily, unable to hide his disgust with Jim's take of the situation. Why was he defending the little brat?

"Since when have you become an advocate for drunk drivers?" he threw at him with a mocking tone as his face became flushed with anger.

A few seconds passed before Brass answered. "Ever since I heard Sara was one of them," he threw back quietly, his tone clearly projecting his discontentment with the accusation.

Grissom furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and decided to wear a bewildered expression on his face in an attempt to make the other man think he had no idea what he was talking about.

Brass shifted irritably. "What?" he asked, lifting his chin, "You didn't think I would know something like that?"

There was no point for Grissom to continue with the charade. Brass obviously knew he had picked Sara up from the station, or else he wouldn't have informed him of the incident so blatantly.

"She told you," he said as a matter a fact.

"No, she didn't, and I haven't told her I know either."

But Grissom remained unconvinced by Brass' explanation. Sara may have driven drunk, but she never hit anyone and left them for dead, and even if she had thrown herself in front of that car, it was no excuse for the guy to leave her the way he did. What if no one had seen what had happened and she didn't get the help that she needed?

She could have died.

_She could have died. _His mind repeated the thought, spurring more anger and resentment, toward whom? He wasn't sure, but he was beginning to worry that those emotions were coming dangerously close to the surface, and the last thing he wanted to do right now was to blow up in front of the detective.

"Jim, we can argue about this later," he said absently, "So, should you lead the way or should I?" he asked lightly, raising his arm to point in the right direction.

Brass, realizing that the other man was not about to budge or compromise, sighed in defeat, "Be my guest…" he said reluctantly, mimicking Grissom's hand gesture.

'_I hope you know what you're doing_,' he whispered to himself.

Grissom nodded and made his way to the lockup area with Brass by his side.

Both men arrived there a short minute later.

After a brief stop to arrange some bureaucratic and technical details, they proceeded further down a block of small cells, stopping near the one holding the young man who might have been responsible for Sara's condition and who was definitely, indirectly or not, responsible for Grissom's recent change of tune.

Through the bars, Grissom carefully studied the figure huddled protectively on the bench. It was slightly dark in the small cell, but he could tell the brown-haired kid had obviously been crying; his face was all puffed up, and his eyes were undoubtedly red.

He cleared his throat and stepped closer. "I'm Gil Grissom from the Las Vegas Crime Lab," he said softly, even though he hadn't intended to, "I'd like to ask you a few questions." _And beat you to a bloody pulp while I'm at it, you little son of a bitch._

Grissom couldn't remember the last time he had beaten someone up, but he didn't think it was something anyone could have forgotten how to do.

_Like riding a bike._

Of course he had no intention of doing so. As much as he wanted to, he still hadn't gone completely insane yet. He was still Grissom, a law abiding citizen with enough geek genes to pass along to a couple of generations ahead, but even those facts wouldn't have stopped his personality from making a 180 if the outcome had been different - if he was now grieving the loss of someone he just couldn't have afforded to lose. If that had been the case, he had no doubt that the kid would have suffered through a much worse punishment than the justice system could have had to offer. It wouldn't have mattered if he had spent the rest of his life in jail as a result because to him, there was no life without Sara.

The kid stood up and advanced hesitantly toward the two men who were standing on the other side of the metal bars.

Just a foot or so away, he spoke, not daring to look in the other man's eyes. "I… Uh… already told him everything…" he stuttered, pointing his finger at Brass.

"It's okay, Gavin," Brass assured him, "just tell him what you told me."

But Gavin, instead of answering, began sobbing. "I'm so sorry; I didn't mean to hurt anyone; I'm so sorry…" he repeated, his body rocking with each whimper.

Grissom glanced briefly at Brass, who like him, was not impressed with the kid's emotional display, even though as Jim told him, it didn't appear like a show.

Normally, he would have felt something for a person crying his eyes out in front of him, but not for this one.

He wondered if the kid was crying for Sara or himself.

"Why don't you start from the beginning…" Gil told him blankly, trying his best to sound detached, "You were drinking, then what?"

Gavin sniffed. "I swear I didn't see her."

It was becoming clear to Grissom that it wasn't going to be easy getting clear answers out of him. It didn't look like he was completely sober yet, and he was obviously not stable.

"Was she on the road? Gil continued the next line of his interrogation, "On the curb, the sidewalk?

"Where was she?" he grilled him further.

"I'm not sure," came Gavin's nervous reply as he wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

"What do you mean you're not sure?" Grissom snapped, his solid composure that he had managed to sustain so far beginning to fall apart.

The quick shift in Grissom's demeanor caused Gavin's body to freeze, and his eyes, which were now filled with fear, drifted to the detective in seek of protection. It didn't matter to him that he was protected by strong iron barriers – something about that man's approach scared him, and he wished for the millionth time that he was somewhere else, anywhere other than this hellhole.

"Answer me!" Grissom yelled out as he grabbed the bars with both of his hands, finally breaking into Gavin's trance and forcing him to take a step back.

Brass, responding instinctively to his friend's unusual interrogation method, stepped a little closer and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Grissom…" he almost whispered, cocking his head a little, "Come on…"

"I'm not done here yet," he replied with a low voice, his death-glare still fixed on the kid.

As he heard the tension in Grissom's voice and saw his features turning into a mix of frustration and fury, Brass was beginning to suspect that the scientist had other motives to be there other than to 'find out what happened'. He hadn't figured out what they were yet, but he had a few ideas.

"You're not going to get more out of him," he said firmly, glancing at Gavin who was now looking like he was about to pee his pants.

Hearing Brass' words, Grissom closed his eyes briefly and swallowed hard. At that moment, he realized that he wasn't going to get what he wanted from that kid, and he would have to leave with the same doubts he came in with.

He could go over the evidence, he could interview the witness, and he could do a lot of things, but there was one other person he could ask for the truth, and he knew that he would eventually have to.

But could he? Could he ask her the question that was going to burn a hole in his skull if he didn't get an answer soon. Could he ask her in these words: 'Sara, did you do this?'

Do you want to die?

Could he?

* * *

TBC… 


End file.
